


Frozen

by AutumnDreams



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnDreams/pseuds/AutumnDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU five chapter story set in what would be series 2 after Harry's house is burgled, though that's just where it was in my head. To save his job, Harry is forced to get married; Ruth is his (un)willing wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**AN: Alright, this was part of a larger story I wrote last year and then decided not to share as I didn't like it too much. This and the next chapter I'll post last night will make up this little two-shot scenario I give you for Harry and Ruth. Set in Series 2, I wrote this before seeing the rest of the show and then had to go back and fix some names for Harry's past lovers. I do hope you'll enjoy and the second half will be posted tomorrow night. And for the anon who keeps leaving a message asking for more 'Pelvis Pusher', it's coming and will hopefully be up next week. I'm having...difficulties writing what Harry does to Ruth.** _

* * *

Harry leaned back in the gray wing chair by the blazing fire and gazed moodily at the orange flames flickering in the hearth. Resentment warred with a large dose of guilt inside of him as he listened to Ruth move about in the bathroom. He could hear the taps turn on. The water splashing against the porcelain of the tub. Her removing her clothes. Would she be able to get that elegant dress off by herself? He knew she wouldn't ask for his help.

Since they'd entered this room, with all of its sensual expectation, she'd become icier than ever. It angered him. Her purposeful coldness. As if she couldn't even stand to be close to him and wanted him to know it, but still, he couldn't keep the small stab of pity from piercing that anger. She was a virgin; even if she would never admit it, there had to be some nervousness. He needed to make an allowance for that.

He could still feel the desire for her coiled low in his stomach, but still, he didn't relish the prospect of making love to his wife. Well, of course; there would be no love about it; and neither was new or a surprise. If he was honest with himself, he shouldn't even want it, not with not knowing what kind of woman Ruth really was.

There was no illusions on his part about how she would handle the night. Lie in their bed, stiff and straight as a board, her eyes scrunched tight as she thought of nothing but her marital duty. Just the thought of her like that was enough to squelch his desire.

Distantly, Harry realized that the sounds that had been coming from the bathroom had stopped, and he knew now that she must be stuck in that dress. He rose from the gray chair, dressed only in his trousers, and rapped softly on the door.

"Ruth? Do you need any help?" He was met with a silence, and he almost smiled, imagining the internal battle she was wresting with, admitting to him that she needed his help, and yet not wanting to accept anything from him. Almost certainly she didn't want to admit that she needed his help in unzipping the gown. "I'll close my eyes," he half joked, "if you want me to help you."

"It's not a zipper." Her voice was muffled through the solid door. "It's a hundred tiny buttons that Zoe did up."

Before he could stop them, Harry had visions of all those buttons following the elegant length of her spine, could picture his fingers popping them open one by one to reveal the ivory skin of her back. The desire in his leapt to life once more.

"Well, then you'll most certainly need my help," he said, and after a second's pause, he heard the sound of the door unlocking and she opened it, her head bowed, a few tendrils of brunette hair falling forward to hide her face. Wordlessly she turned around, her hand gathering her hair away from her neck, and he was presented with her narrow, rigid back, the buttons running from her neck to her tailbone. Each one a tiny, cream pearl holding the lace closed.

Harry didn't speak as he started at the top, his fingers sliding each button free, careful to not brush against her pale skin. The buttons were tiny and his task was hard, taking much longer than the moment he had originally thought. He didn't close his eyes or look away as he undid each one, the tender skin of her neck and shoulders revealing itself slowly as the silk fell away in a sensual slide.

And then his fingers brushed her skin – she felt both icy and soft to him – and he felt her give a tiny shudder, though whether it was out of desire or disgust, he didn't know. He could sense that she felt both, that she was as conflicted as he was; probably even more so; about wanting him. This realization sent a sudden rush of sympathy through him and he stilled, his fingers coming to splay across her bared back. He felt her stiffen beneath him.

"We can wait," he said softly, "if you'd rather."

"Wait?" her voice was no more than a breath, her back rigid and her head bowed.

"To consummate out marriage."

"Until when?"

"Until we're both more comfortable with each other."

She let out a little huff of laughter, the sound as cynical as anything he'd ever heard. "And when will that be, do you think, Harry? Tomorrow? A week? Next month? Sometime next year? I'd rather just get it over with."

What a delightful way of phrasing what was to be between them he thought sardonically. In the time his palm had been resting against her skin, it had warmed, but when he spread his fingers a little wider, he could still feel how cold she felt. Not just skin deep but all the way through. "You're right of course," he answered flatly, a cold filling him as well. "We might as well get it over with."

She didn't answer, just kept her her bowed, and he finished unbuttoning the dress in silence. She held her hands her front, holding the dress in place, and as he looked down, Harry could see the top curve of her bottom, encased enticingly in sheer tights, as she stepped back into the bathroom. With a grim smile, he watched as she closed the door and locked it once more.

.

Ruth lay in the bath until the water grew cold and the insistent throb of her body's response to Harry started to subside. Or so she hoped. Except it didn't.

She'd never been touched so intimately as when he unbuttoned her dress. She realized this probably made her pathetic to a man like him, a man who was so sensual and passionate, who had probably had a dozen, - a hundred - lovers. As for her? She'd had so little physical affection in her life that even a casual brush of a hand had everything in her jolting with shocked awareness.

And now the feeling of his fingers on her back, the whisper of warm skin on cold skin, so intimate, so tender, was an assault so much softer and gentler than that life-altering kiss they'd had six weeks ago. And yet, that kiss had still been so unbearably powerful, had awakened some buried need inside her into a blaze hotter, harder, than she'd ever experienced, and it demand to be one she was afraid she could not ignore.

The water was downright chilly now, and reluctantly she rose from the tub, swathing herself in the dressing gown that covered her just as Harry had promised but which she knew he could peel away in seconds.

She took her time brushing and blow-drying her hair, took a moment and stared at her pale face and wide eyes, and then pinched her cheeks for color. There were no more reasons to stay in here, to stall.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the bathroom door.

Harry was facing the window, one arm braced against its wooden frame, wearing only a pair of black silky pajama bottoms. The breath rushed from Ruth's lungs as she gazed at, the firelight flickering over his powerful shoulders and surprisingly trim hips, his hair light and slightly curled, his skin a canvas of scars. He looked so powerful and almost frightening in his latent sensuality, his blatant masculinity. Just his presence seemed to steal all the breath from her body, all the thoughts from her head.

She straightened her spine, took a deep breath, and stepped further into the room. "I'm ready."

"Are you?" His voice was a low, sardonic drawl as he turned from the outside, and swept her from head to toe in one swiftly assessing gaze. "You look terrified."

"Well, I can't say I'm looking forward to this," Ruth answered, keeping her voice hard even though her words were no more than lies. "But I'll do what's expected of me and needed."

"I thought you'd say something like that."

"Well, then perhaps you're getting to know me, after all."

"Unfortunately, I think I am."

She flinched at the harshness of his words, unable to stop herself from it, and Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

"But you only said what you meant." Her voice was low as she stared at him.

"I only meant..." He let out a long, low breath. "I just wish things could be different."

That she was different, he meant. Well, sometimes she wished she was different too. She wished being close to someone - being vulnerable, intimate, exposed - wasn't scary. Terrifying.

Was that what Harry wanted? That kind of...closeness? Was what he said entirely different from what he really wanted? The thought caused a blaze of yearning to set her senses afire. Because a part of her wanted that too, but she had no idea how to go about achieving it. How to overcome her fear that ran so very, very deep.

"Well, then," she finally said, every muscle tensed and expectant.

A smile twisted at his lips even though she still sensed that restless, raw energy from him.

"Do you actually think I'm going to pounce on you right this second? Deflower you like some debauched lord and his maiden?" His hands moved, as though he was searching for pockets to slide them into.

"I hope you'll have a bit more finesse than that," she said, arms crossed around her middle.

"Thank you for that vote of confidence." Voice full of sarcasm, he strolled towards her with a graceful, loose-limbed purpose that had Ruth tensing all the more.

He stopped in front of her, his gaze sweeping over her so that already she felt ridiculously exposed, even though she wore the dressing gown that covered her completely. And it was even more powerful than if he had touched her. She shivered, wondering what it would feel like to have his hands slide over her. To touch her as his gaze has.

"You're as tense as a bow." Harry touched the back of her neck, his fingers massaging the muscles knotted there. "Why don't you relax, just a little?"

Her fingers clenched convulsively on the sash of her robe. Relaxation felt like an impossibility, especially with him touching her. "And how am I supposed to do that when I know-" she stopped abruptly, not wanting to admit so much, or really anything at all.

Harry's dark eyebrows drew together in a frown as he searched her face. "When you know what?"

"That you don't like me," she forced out, her voice small, she adverted her face from his. "That you don't respect me or hold me in any regard at all."

Harry didn't answer, just let his faze rove over her, searching for something he didn't seem to find because he finally sighed, shrugging his powerful shoulders. "And you feel the same way about me."

"I-" She stopped, licked her lips. She should tell him that she'd only told him she didn't respect him to hurt him and protect herself, because she hated how vulnerable she'd felt. And yet somehow the words wouldn't come.

"I think it's best," Harry said quietly, "if we put our personal feelings aside. The last time we were alone together, I kissed you." He spoke calmly, rationally, and yet just that simple statement of fact caused Ruth's heart to thud even harder and a treacherous, hectic flush to spread over her whole body. "You responded," he continued, and she closed her eyes, the memory of his kiss washing over her in a hot tide. "And I responded to you. Regardless of how different we are, and how little regard we have for each other's personal priorities or convictions, we are physically attracted to one another, Ruth. We don't have to like one another or respect one another to have sex."

He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, and she felt the warmth of his palms, even through the thick terrycloth of her robe. They burned her, and yet she longed to feel them touch her skin. "It might seem repellent to you, to be attracted to someone you don't respect, but this is the only point of understanding it appears we have between us."

And with his hands still on her shoulders, he bent his head and brushed his lips across hers. That first taste of him was like a cool drink of water in the middle of a burning desert. And her life had been a desert, a barren wasteland of loneliness and yearning for something she hadn't realized she'd missed until he'd first touched her.

Now her body screamed.

Her mouth opened instinctively under his, her hands coming up to clutch the warm, bare skin of his shoulders, needing the contact and the comfort, the closeness. Needing him.

His lips hovered over hers for a moment, almost as if he was surprised by the suddenness of her response, the silent yes she couldn't keep her body from saying. Then he pressed his mouth back to hers, deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into the softness of her mouth, claiming and exploring her with a staggering intimacy that felt strangely, unbearably sweet. And known.

It felt important, to be touched like this. To feel warm hands on her body, gentle, caressing, accepting her in a way she'd never felt accepted before. Not since she's lost her father, since she'd let him die.

She'd never understood how much she needed this in the years since then, the touch of a human being, the reminder that she was real and alive, made of flesh, blood and bone, full of emotions, of wants, and of needs. She was so much more than she'd ever let herself be, and she felt it all now in an overwhelming, endless rush as Harry kissed her.

And then he stopped, pulling back just a little to smile down at her with what seemed terribly like smugness. "Well, then," he said softly, and she heard the satisfaction and perhaps even triumph in his voice, and with humiliation rushing through her she pulled away.

Of course he didn't accept her. Didn't like her, didn't respect her. Didn't even know her. And she didn't want him to, not really, so with all that between them, how could she respond to him this way? How could she crave the exposing intimacy she hated and feared?

Numbness was so much easier. So much safer. She might have lived her life in a vacuum, but at least it had been safe.

She tried to pull back from Harry's light grasp and he frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't-"

"Want to want me?" he finished, his voice hardening and Ruth didn't answer, just focused on keeping some last shred of control, of dignity, intact. Blink. Breathe. Don't cry.

"But you do want me, Ruth," Harry said softly. "You want me very much. And even if you try to deny it, I'll know. I'll feel your response in your lips that open to mine, in your hands that reach for me, in your body that responds to me." He brushed his hand against her breast, his thumb finding the revealingly taut peak even underneath her heavy gown. "You see? I'll always know."

"I know that," she choked. "I'm not denying anything." She turned her face with all of its naked emotion away from him.

"No," he agreed, his voice hard as iron now, as hard as his gunmetal-grey eyes. "You're not denying it. You're just resisting it with every fiber of your being. Resisting me." She let out a shudder, and he shook his head. "Why, Ruth? You agreed to this marriage, as did I. Why can't we find this pleasure at least? The pleasure of the flesh."

"Because..." Because she wasn't strong enough. She'd open herself up to him just a little and a tidal wave of emotion would rush through her. She wouldn't be able to hold it back and it would devastate her. She knew it instinctively, knew that giving in just a little to Harry would crack her right open, shatter her into pieces. She's never come together again.

How could she explain all that?

And yet even so, she knew she had to stop fighting him, stop this futile resistance, because what purpose did it really serve? She was married to this man. She had known they would consummate this marriage. Knew they had to for both their sakes. She just hadn't expected to feel so much.

"Ruth," Harry said, and he sounded so tired. Weary of this, of her.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'll...I'll try better."

"Try better?" He raised his eyebrows. "You don't need to prove yourself to me, Ruth."

Didn't she? Hadn't she been proving herself to her mother, to everyone, for so long she didn't know how to do anything else? How to just be?

She dragged in a deep breath. "Let's...start over." She forced herself to meet his narrowed gaze, even to smile although she felt her lips tremble, and the tears she'd kept at bay for so long threatened once more to spill.

When had she become so emotionally fragile? Why did this man call up such feelings in her? She wanted to be strong again. She wanted to be safe.

She wanted to get this awful, exposing encounter over with.

"Start over," Harry repeated. "I'm wondering just how far we need to go back."

"Not that far." She made her smile brighter, more determined. She could do this. They'd get over this, and life with him would be safe again. "You're right. I...I do want you." The words felt so much like rock in her mouth; she nearly choked on them. Willing her hands to be steady, she undid the sash of her dressing gown, shrugged it off, and stood before him naked.

Harry's gaze widened, and Ruth felt herself flush, a rosy stain covering her whole body that could not be hidden. And she longed to hide it, hide her whole self, mind and body and heart, yet she forced herself to stand there, chin tilted proudly, back straight. Proud and yet accepting.

Harry shook his head, and her heart swooped inside her. "This isn't starting over," he said quietly. "This is just you gritting your teeth a bit more and putting a game face on."

"No-" she said, and with desperation driving her, a desperate need to get this all finished with so she could hide once more, she crossed to him and, pressing her naked body against his, she kissed him.

.

Harry felt the softness of her breasts brush his bare chest, her lips hard and demanding on his, a supplication his libido responded to with instant acceptance. Instinctively his arms came up and he pulled her closer, fitted her against the throb of his arousal and claimed the kiss as his own.

She tasted so sweet, and her body was so soft and taunt against his. Too pliant. He inwardly cursed.

He didn't want this. Ruth might be submitting to him, but it was an awful, insulting submission. He wanted her want, needed her not just to acknowledge her desire of him, but to embrace it, him, even if just physically. Because without, it'd be not much better than rape. Emotionally they might be poles apart, but couldn't they at least have this?

Almost roughly, his own hands shaking, he pushed her away from him and shook his head.

"No. Not like this."

Her eyes widened. "Why not?"

He stared at her for a moment, wondering just what was going on behind that beautiful, blank face. Except she wasn't quite so blank right now. Her eyes were filled with panic, and her breath came in uneven, frantic gasps.

This wasn't the understandable shy reticence of a virgin, or even the haughty acceptance of the ice queen he'd thought she was. This was, he realized with a sudden jolt of shock, pure fear.

"Ruth..." He put his hands on her shoulders and felt a shudder rack her body. "Did you have a bad experience?" he asked quietly. "With a man? Is that why you're afraid of me? Of physical intimacy?"

She whirled away, snatched up her robe, and pushed her arms into the billowing sleeves. "I'm not afraid."

"You're certainly giving a good impression, then."

He folded his arms, a cold certainty settling inside him. Something had happened to her. It all made sense: her extreme devotion to her work, her lack of relationships, her fear of natural desire. "Were you...abused? Raped?"

She whirled back round to face him, a look of shocked disbelief on her face. "No!"

"Most women wouldn't fight a natural, health desire for a man, Ruth. A man who has admitted he wants you. Why do you?"

"Because..." She licked her lips. "Because I wasn't expecting it," she finally said and he raised his eyebrows.

"You weren't expecting us to find the physical side of things pleasant? Why not?"

She shrugged. "Nothing about this marriage or our meeting suggested we would."

"The kiss we shared six weeks ago didn't clue you in?" he asked, a gentle hint of humor entering his voice, surprising even him.

She blushed. he liked it when she blushed, liked how it lit up her face and her eyes, her whole self. it gave him hope. "before that, I mean," she muttered.

"All right, fine. You weren't expecting it. But now it's here between us, and you're still fighting it. Why?"

She hesitated, her gaze lowered, before she lifted her face and pinned him with a clear, blue eye stare. "Because I agreed to this marriage because it was convenient, and I didn't want anything else. I didn't want love or even affection. I didn't want to get to know you beyond a...a friendly kind of agreement. I thought that's how you would think of this marriage too, and so far nothing-" her breath hitched, her face not fiery but almost sad "-nothing has been like I expected!"

He didn't know whether to laugh or groan. "But you're still not telling me why you don't want those things," Harry finally said quietly. "Why don't you want love or affection?" And while her admission didn't surprise him, he suspected the reason for it was different from what he'd thought. She wasn't cold. She was hiding.

She stared at him mutinously, and then her lower lip trembled. It made him, suddenly and fiercely, want to take her in his arms and kiss that wobbling lip. Kiss the tears that shimmered in her eyes, tears he knew instinctively she wouldn't let fall. Then the moment passed and her expression become remote once more. "I just don't."

"Still not an answer, Ruth."

"Well, it's the only one I have to give you."

"So you don't want to tell me."

"Why should I?" she demanded. "We barely know each other. You don't -"

"Like you?" he filled in. "That might have been true initially, but how can I ever get to like you, or even know you, if you hide yourself from me? Because that's what the whole ice-princess act is. isn't it? A way to hide yourself." He'd never felt more sure of anything. Her coldness was an act, a mask, and he felt more determined than ever to make it slip, to have it drop away completely.

"Oh, this is ridiculous.." She bit her lip and looked away. "I don't know why you can't just toss me on the bed and have your wicked way with me."

He let out a choked laugh of disbelief. Ruth, it seemed, had read a few too many Jane Austen novels. "You'd really prefer that?"

"Yes." Her eyes turned the color of a stormy sea and she shook her head. "I want to want this," she said, her voice filled with frustration, and he thought he understood.

She wanted something different now. Well, so did he. He wanted to know this contrary bride of his, understand her in a way he certainly didn't know. But he was getting a glimpse of the woman underneath the ice, a woman with pain and secrets and a surprising humor and warmth. A woman he could live with, maybe even love.

Unless of course he was being fanciful. Unless he was fooling himself just as he had with Juliet, with Jane, believing the best of everyone because he so wanted to love and be loved.

But surely he'd developed a little discernment over the years?

"I'm not going to throw you on that bed, Ruth," he said, stepping closer, "and have my way with you, wicked or otherwise. When we have sex - and it won't be tonight - it will be pleasurable for both of us. It will involve a level of give and take, of vulnerability and acceptance I don't think you're capable of right now."

She didn't answer, just flashed those stormy eyes at him, so Harry smiled and took a step closer to her. "But I will sleep with you in that bed. I'll lie next to you and put my arms around you and feel your softness against me. I think that will be enough for tonight." He watched her eyes widen with alarm. "More than enough," he said, and he tugged on the sash of her gown so it fell open and she walked unwillingly towards him.

"What are you doing-?"

"You can't sleep in that bulky thing." He slid it from her shoulders, smoothing the silk of her skin under his palms. "But if you want to wear that frothy nightgown, go ahead."

Her chin jutting out in determination, she yanked the nightgown from the bed and put it on. It was made mostly of lace, clinging to her body, and Harry's palms itched to touch her again.

"Now what?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her breasts, covering the dusty peaks he yearned to kiss.

"Now to bed," Harry said, and he pulled her to the bed, lay down, and drew her into his arms. She went unresistingly, yet he felt the tension in every muscle of her body. She was lying there like a wooden board.

He stroked her hair, her shoulder, her hip, keeping his touch gentle yet sure, staying away from the places he longed to touch. The fullness of her breasts, the juncture of her thighs.

If he was trying to relax her, it wasn't working. Ruth quivered under his touch, but it was a quiver of tension rather than desire. Again, Harry wondered just what had made his wife this way.

And he knew he wanted to find out. It would, he suspected, be a long, patient process.

He continued to slide his fingers along her skin even as his groin ached with unfulfilled desire. He wanted her, wanted her in a way he hadn't let himself before. He'd fought against this marriage, against this woman, because he'd assumed she was the same as the over conniving women he'd know. Jane. Juliet. Elena.

But he suspected now - hell, knew - that his wife wasn't like that. There was too much fear and vulnerability in that [blue] gaze, too much sorrow in her resistance. She fought against feeling because she was afraid, and he wanted to know why. He wanted to know what fears she hid, and he wanted to help her overcome them. He wanted, he realized with a certainty born not of anger or rebellion but of warmth and fledgling affection, to melt his icy wife.

**To Be Continued**

* * *

_**AN: Hope you enjoyed. Xoxo** _


	2. Chapter 2

Harry sat across from Ruth in the cabin of his small yacht and picked up a strawberry dipped in chocolate from the oak tray between them. He held it out to her, a mischievous smile playing at his mouth. They were 40 nautical miles off the coast of Mallorca, somewhere between the Port d'Andratx and Valencia, and Harry was making somewhat of a large statement of allowing her into his life, inviting her into the most private depths. He strived to keep this part of his life a secret; never sharing with even Malcolm the one luxury he allowed himself a year; of spending a week sailing in the Mediterranean, alone, away from the lies and secrets and threats on lives.

No one knew of this secret guilty pleasure.

Until now.

He was determined to make an effort at being truthful with this wife, and he was determined to begin what he suspected would be the very enjoyable process of melting his wife. It was already working; last night she'd lain in his arms, her back pressed against his bare chest, and it had only taken her an hour to relax. He'd watched her face soften in sleep, her tightly pursed lips part on a sigh. Her lashes had fluttered and brushed against her porcelain-pale cheeks. He'd stroked her cheek, amazed at the softness, and at the softness he felt in himself for this woman.

One he'd thought so full of ice and cold.

Yet even as he had held her, had stroked her cheek, he'd wondered. Doubted. Because God knew his judgment had been off before. He'd thought the best of Jane; had thought himself in love with her; and of Juliet, but both had betrayed him in ways that cut to the soul. Now, here he was married to his analyst, a spy sent to his den to report to his superiors for reasons he still wasn't sure of, and yet, he found himself wondering if it was possible he was falling in love.

With his wife.

Something one in his line of work didn't do. Not if you wanted to remain emotionally uncompromised.

It was the twenty-first century, arranged marriages were a thing of the past, and yet, somehow he'd found himself forced into one of sorts. And all because of one momentary lax of judgment. He'd been tired that night he had returned to his house, Firestorm safe he'd believed, locked in a steel case that had been placed in his safe. And yet, a 14 year old boy had managed to circumvent all the security and managed to steal it. With its safe recovery, he'd thought himself safe, had thought all would slip into the nether.

He should have known Mace would be behind it all. Holding it over his head, the threats to ruin him and reveal all secrets of his past, to railroad him out of the Services and take over Section D for his own sinister needs. All had looked bleak as Harry had tried to work out just what secrets Oliver had, when Tom had suggested using the pawn Mace had sent and create her a queen.

Marry Ruth to protect the King.

It made sense, keep your enemies close, and Harry had to admit to being intrigued by the mousey brunette. She'd done little in her time at 5 to make him think she truly evil, had only passed on information as had been demanded of her for her transfer from GCHQ, and yet, Harry knew Mace well enough to know there was more too it.

What, he still wasn't sure, but when they'd sat down to talk to Ruth, to manipulate her to their side, she'd agreed whole-heartedly. Wanting to be free of GCHQ completely, to be away from Cheltenham, and apparently from her family as well. She'd agreed to marry him for protection, and to keep her place on the Grid; he'd married her to feed misinformation to Mace and the other slime in the JIC while protecting her from whatever secrets filled her past.

All thought they madly in love.

_He_ thought is possible they could be, _if_ he could get past the walls of ice she had up.

Which made him wonder if he was still desperate to love and be loved, as he had been in his youth. Because Ruth might lie in his arms, but she didn't always look as if she wanted to be there. One minute she was kissing him with a sudden, sweet passion that had taken him by surprise and the next she was cool and remote, all chilly indifference, as though this was nothing more than work.

Which was the real woman?

For now, Ruth eyed the chocolate strawberry suspiciously. "You have a thing about messy foods."

"They tend to be an aphrodisiac." He was willing to put all that aside and just try to get to know _her_.

"Aphro - _oh!_ " Her cheeks pinked, and he wanted nothing more than to peel away her blouse and see if that pink continued.

"Try one," he said, grin filling his face.

"I don't-"

"-like strawberries? Or chocolate? I find that hard to believe." He lifted the juicy fruit to her lips.

"I've never had one before."

"A strawberry?" His voice is incredulous as he stares as her.

"Not one dipped in chocolate." Her blush deepened and she looked away, her eyes settling on the small window across the galley. "Sometimes I think I must seem ridiculous to you."

Surprise caused him to falter. He dropped his hand, still holding the strawberry, the chocolate smearing his fingers. "Nothing about you is ridiculous, Ruth."

"I...I know I haven't experienced much of life."

"And why is that?"

She paused, her lips pressed together. "I don't know."

But he thought; knew; she did. She must have at least a good guess locked away in that brilliant mind of hers. There was no need to press her for it now. Instead, he lifted the strawberry once again, brushed it against her pursed lips. "Try it."

She hesitated, her lips thin, everything in her resisting his request. Then, he saw the moment when she decided to be different, to trust him, and with a little shrug, she smiled, reaching for it. He drew back, eyes glinting with challenge. "Open your mouth."

Her eyes widened and for a second, he thought he'd pushed her too far. Too hard. Too fast. But then, she did as he'd asked, parting her lips so he could hold the strawberry out to her. He felt his groin harden; ache; as she leaned forward to wrap her lips around the fragrant fruit, the tip of her pink tongue brushing his finger as she licked at the chocolate.

"Mmm." She sounded so sweetly innocent, and yet as seductive as a siren as she gazed at him with wide, blue eyes. He could drown in them, wanted to drown in them, _was_ drowning in them, lost in the moment, as she licked the chocolate again. "I don't think I knew what I've been missing," she said huskily, and he knew she wasn't just talking about a single strawberry.

"Ruth..." his voice was a groan as she bit into the strawberry, vibrant red juice trickling down her chin as the chocolate smeared her lush lips.

She ate the berry in two bites, her teeth grazing his fingers with each nibble, and then Harry could hold back no longer. He reached for her, fingers dragging through her hair as he brought her face to his and kissed her strawberry-sweet lips.

She tasted better, sweeter than any berry he had ever eaten. And he wanted her more than he'd wanted anything or anyone in his life. He kissed her deeply, his tongue sweeping the chocolate from the inside of her cheek, as he tried to draw her into him through their mouths. Wanting and needing her closer, he slid his hands down to her waist, spanning it as her drew her into his lap, her legs fitting around him so she pressed snuggly and oh-so-sweetly against his arousal. He flexed his hips against hers, craving the friction created between them, and he heard her moan as his hardness brushed her heat through four layers of fabric.

"Now, that's better," he murmured, and she let out a choked laugh.

"Harry-" she stopped, her head buried in his neck, and Harry stilled.

He was moving too fast. He'd forgotten, in the sweet spell of that kiss, and the openness that she'd shared with him, that she was a virgin. Untouched. Inexperienced.

Harry closed his eyes and willed the rush of desire to retreat. Even so, it filled his mind with a red haze. Gently, he eased her off his lap to the plush bench beside him.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice haggard, "lost my head there a bit."

"It's okay," she murmured, leaning against him so her face was still buried in his neck.

Harry leaned back against the plush cushions and tried, without success, to will away the ache in his groin.

"Sex doesn't scare me, you should know," she said suddenly, lips mouth against his throat, and he suppressed a smile.

"I'm very glad to hear that."

"It's just..." she pulled away, eyes meeting his as she licked her lips, and he felt a rush of desire and lust rush through him deeply. _Painfully._ "Everything else does. About...being with someone."

"What do you mean?"

"Intimacy. Like you said. Sharing things. Being-vulnerable."

He smiled, tried to draw one from her, into something shared. "None of this is a walk in the park, is it?"

"You mean, this scares you too?" Her eyes hooded, she watched him.

"Sometimes." He was the one to glance away now. "I'm not exactly an expert in all of this myself, you know, Ruth."

"But, you've had loads of relationships," her voice filled with quiet wonder, "at least according to your personal files."

"Don't believe everything you read." He looked back at her, saw her eyebrows rise into two, beautiful arcs.

"It's not true?"

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable to share so much, yet knowing he had to be honest with her. With his wife. "I've had quite a few...sexual relationships, I'll admit that. They didn't mean anything to me."

"That's more than I've ever had," she said with a soft laugh that wobbled at the end, a telling note.

He felt a sudden stab of surprising regret for all the pointless encounters he'd had, all attempts to starve off the loneliness and need he'd felt deep inside. The need that was, amazingly, starting to be met by this quiet woman.

"Have you ever...loved anyone?" Ruth asked softly. "I mean, a woman? Romantically?"

"Yes," Harry paused, pictured Jane, pictured Juliet. What had drawn him to them originally? They'd both been so different from each other. From everything he'd ever known in his life. Both tall brunettes with trim figures, brown eyes bright with an intelligence and a lustful gaze. It had taken him nearly five years to figure out that Jane had only wanted the perfect life; a husband working that 9 to 5 job, a house full of kids, proper sex in the darkness of night. Juliet had wanted him like Oliver did. Well, no, God no. Oliver didn't want to have sex with him; at least he hoped; but they both wanted to control him. To manipulate him into doing their bidding. She hadn't been interested in the man he really was, didn't want to know anything about the whole. She'd wanted him for the job. And yes, the wicked sex.

"Harry?" Ruth's soft voice interrupted the bleakness of his thoughts. "You must have loved her very much."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because your face. It's a thundercloud."

He shook his head, eyes meeting hers. "I thought I loved her. Them."

"Is there really a difference? Between loving and thinking?"

He sighed, eyes drifting away. "Maybe not. Sometimes disillusionment is worse than heartbreak."

"How were you disillusioned?"

He shrugged, half amazed he was willing to share these secrets with her. "I thought Jane loved me for me. But I discovered she was only interested in me when I could give her the status of a Government man. She didn't want the spy, she wanted a politician. Wanted the status and comforts that came with being the wife of someone important. Without it, I meant nothing to her, and she didn't have to be faithful." He thought of how he'd caught her in bed; _their_ _bed_ ; with the children's doctor. She hadn't even been sorry.

Ruth pressed her lips together. "So that's why you're so suspicious."

"Suspicious?"

"Of me."

He hesitated then, because as much as he'd been enjoying their conversation, and this new, startling intimacy, her words reminded him that she had agreed to marry him for some of the same reasons. She was a spy. She'd been selling him and his team out to the enemy. She's married him for the protection of being the wife of someone important.

Nothing had really changed, except maybe in his own, sentimental mind.

He pushed the thought away; he wanted, for once, to enjoy the simple pleasure of being with a woman. With his wife. "Have another strawberry," he said, and her another berry to her parted lips.

* * *

_**AN: I've decided to split this chapter into a few chapters; otherwise it would be 10,000 words. :) More after I finished splitting in a logical place. Hope you're enjoying this. Xoxo** _


	3. Chapter 3

_**AN: Please note the increase in rating. I foresee one more chapter after this and the epilogue. So glad you're all enjoying.** _

* * *

Ruth licked the last of the chocolate from her lips, ever sense on an impossible overload. She's never felt so much-the sweetness of the strawberry, the seductive promise of his kiss, the alarming honesty of their conversation. All had left her feeling exposed and bare, yet, bizarrely, beautifully light, as though by allowing herself to trust him, the long burden of a secret so long hidden was to be lifted. Only a little, she could still feel the impossible weight of weighing her down, but perhaps one day, with his help, she could learn to not allow it to cripple her.

She supposed that this was why people fell in love. That the beauty found in love far outweighed the dangers of heartbreak and betrayal. This was what all the magazines and romance novels hinted at - and yet she didn't even love Harry. How could she, when she barely knew him?

And yet - he was her husband, and he's held her all night long and kissed her as if he couldn't get enough. She's had more with him already than she'd ever had before, and if that made her pathetic, fine. She was pathetic. But for the first time in her life, she could almost glimpse happiness.

But could he? Could they have something other than a marriage of convenience, even if they wanted to? This had all started as a farce, a means to an end. Would he even want a marriage that was more than work? Her own emotions and desires were a confused tangle, and she had no idea what Harry's were. What he thought. What he felt. She wasn't even sure she had the right to ask.

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

"Lots of things." Absentmindedly, she picked up a fruit and bit into it, the juice running down her fingers.

"You're all sunlight and shadows. Smiling one minute, and the next you're frowning."

"Am I?" she asked, laughing at his analogy, digging deep for some more of this hard honesty and openness. "I guess I'm trying to figure out what I think. What I feel."

"Maybe," Harry suggested softly, moving the empty tray to the small table, "you should stop thinking so much. Just go with what's happening."

She nodded. Yes, that really did seem like a good idea. Stop being an analyst, start being a field agent. Stop worrying. Just...feel.

But, she'd spent over half her lifetime trying not to feel, and now that was all she wanted to do. She laughed aloud, the sound soft and trembling, and Harry smiled.

"Good idea?" he asked, and she nodded again.

"Yes, good idea."

* * *

They'd had lunch out on the deck overlooking the ocean, the warm breeze blowing wisps of her hair into her face. The sun beating down upon them, Ruth had stared out at the rolling waves, fighting a yawn as months of minimal sleep began to catch up to her. Harry was somewhere on the deck, doing what he needed to do to anchor them in their spot for the night, adjusting sails and ropes, things she just did not understand. And so, Ruth stretched her legs out on the sun-warmed wood of the deck chair and gazed out at the sea, her eyes slowly drifting close to a halfway sleep.

Or maybe it was a full sleep as she startled to wakefulness when Harry scooped her into his arms.

"Time for bed, I think," he murmured, and carried her carefully below deck. It was a short walk to the aft bedroom and soon she found herself sinking into the silk sheets of his king-size bed, felt the mattress dip as Harry lay next to her, his bare, sun-kissed arm still around her.

He drew her against him so her head rested on his shoulder, the steady bump-bump of his heart under her cheek. Ruth let out a little breathy sigh of contentment. How had she gone without this all her life?

She must have fallen asleep, because she woke in the middle of the night, the room drenched in darkness, save for a sliver of moonlight that fell across the small floor. The space next to her in the vast bed was cold.

Ruth sat up, shaking the hair from her face and glanced around the relatively small space. Not finding Harry, she slipped from the warm bed and padded barefoot into the main cabin looking for him, wondering where he'd gone on this small boat - and why he had left her in the middle of the night.

She finally found him above on the deck, dressed only in those pajama trousers she had seen him in the first night of their marriage. He was stretched out in the double-person deck chair, cup of coffee to his right while on his lap rested his laptop, his fingers moving across the keys as he worked hard. With a twist of guilt, she realized he really did work hard and at all hours of the night and day. Once, she had accused him of neglecting his team, instead focusing on whatever pleasure he had outside of the Grid, but she was beginning to see that she had been entirely misinformed.

"Can't sleep?" she asked softly, wrapping her arms around her middle at the cold ocean breeze that blew across the deck, and he glanced up, the frown that had settled between his brows rescinding for a moment.

"Thought I'd check in with the Grid while everyone should be home, sleeping. Less likely to be drawn into a crisis that way."

"What are you working on?"

"Just tying up some loose ends with Firestorm."

She moved closer to him, hesitantly settling onto the chair beside him, driven by a new and deeper curiosity to know the real Harry Pearce. To understand him. "You truly regret everything that happened with that, don't you?"

The smile he gave her was twisted, a little bitter. "You mean when I lazily took home the codes so I could debauch some unknowing child-woman?"

She winched, recognizing the words she had thrown at him foolishly in that corridor. "Don't, Harry."

"It's true though, isn't it? At least partially."

"I'm not sure it is."

"And how do you figure that, Ruth? You've read my personal file, you've listened to the stories filling the ranks about me." His voice held a hard edge but she had a feeling that for once, in this marriage, it wasn't for her. He was angry at himself for going home, for losing the briefcase, for somehow failing even when everything had turned out alright in the end. She knew because she understood that feeling too well. The churning guilt and regret for doing the wrong thing, or, in her case, nothing at all.

Briefly, she closed her eyes, willed away the memory of her father's desperate gaze as he clutched his chest, his legs giving way as she stood there doing nothing. His face, she knew, would haunt her for the rest of her life. Just as Peter's would.

"I think," she said quietly, shifting closer to him, "there's always more to the story than there first appears. You told me going home was necessary at the time, but you didn't tell me why."

He glanced down at the computer on his lap. "I didn't think we had that sort of relationship, Ruth."

Her breath hitched and she willed it to even out again. "We didn't. But-but maybe we do now. Or at least, we're trying to.

He glanced up at her then, everything about him inscrutable. Fathomless. "Are we?"

Ruth stared back at him, words on her lips and fear in her heart. This was the moment when she should show her hand, she knew. Her heart. Tell him that in the few days since they'd been married, she'd started to change. He'd changed her, and now she wanted things she'd never let herself want. Affection. Friendship. _Love_.

The words were there and they trembled on her lips, but then the fear of exposing so much want and need made her swallow them, and offer a rather watery smile instead. "You tell me."

Wrong answer, she knew instantly. A coward's answer. Harry looked away, his eyes taking in the black water around them. "I don't know, Ruth. I don't know what secrets you're hiding, or why you've, as you've said yourself, experienced so little of life. it's almost as if you've kept yourself from it, from enjoying or feeling anything, and I won't know why or understand you until you tell me." He glanced back at her than, his expression settled into resolute lines. "But I'm not even sure you really want that. You told me you married me for protection from Oliver Mace. Has that changed?"

She swallowed. "No, not exactly."

Harry expression tightened and he started closing the laptop.

"But I've changed, Harry, at least a little. I want to get to know you. Find out what you do do when you're not stealthily saving the country. And I hope the same holds true for you. That you want to get to know me too." And that, Ruth thought with a weary wryness, was about as honest as she could make herself be with him right now.

Harry gazed at her thoughtfully. "And how do you propose we do that?"

"Get to know one another, you mean?" She licked her lips, saw Harry's gaze drop to her mouth, and felt a warmth curling low in her belly. "Well, as we've been doing. Talking. Spending time with one another."

"We can talk all you like, Ruth, but until you tell me whatever it is you're keeping from me, I don't think much is going to change."

"but I told you I've already changed," she said quietly, shifting on the wood. "At least a little. You've changed me."

"Have I?" Harry asked softly. He was still staring at her mouth and Ruth felt a heavy languor begin to steal through her veins, making her feel almost drunk, reckless in a way she so rarely was. "I can think of another way we could get to know one another," she whispered.

He arched an eyebrow, hear flaring in his eyes, turning them black as he set the laptop on the deck. "And what would that be?"

"This." She leaned forward, her heart thudding hard in her chest, and brushed her lips across his.

His mouth was cool and soft, his lips only barely parted, and he didn't respond as she'd expected him to, pulling her in his arms and taking control. No, he was waiting to see what she would do. How far she would go.

Emboldened, Ruth touched her tongue to the corner of Harry's mouth, heard his grown, felt it in the soft rush of breath against her own lips. Desire bit deeper, and she brought her hands up to his shoulders, steadying herself on the tilted chair as she kissed him again, slid her tongue into his mouth with a surge of pure sexual excitement she was thrilled to feel.

"Ruth..." Harry's hands tangled in her hair as he pressed his mouth more securely on hers, taking this kiss from her and making it his. Theirs.

And what a kiss it was. Ruth could easily count the number of times she'd been kissed in her lifetime, and half of them had come from Harry, but this kiss was something else. This kiss was shared, a giving and a taking, and most of all, an admission. A spilling of secrets you might say, a confession of buried desire.

It felt like the most honest thing she'd ever done in her life.

And then it was more than a kiss as Harry hauled her across the chair. She came willingly, sliding onto his lap as he leaned back, her legs on either side of him as she felt the hard, insistent press of his erection against her, and pleasure rushed deep inside.

Harry deepened the kiss, his hands moving over her shoulders, cupping her breaths through the thin cotton of her sundress and bra. She knew already that the material was too much, that the feeling of his flesh on hers would be exquisite. In that moment, she wasn't afraid of her own feelings. She wanted more, wanted to give into the strength of her own desire - and his. She just wanted more.

Recklessly, she leaned back, her mouth leaving his as she pulled the thin dress over her head and tossed it on top of the laptop. Harry's gaze darkened as he took in the expanse of pale skin, on the hardened dusty peaks wantonly on display in the pale, thin lace of her bra. She watched his eyes watch her as she reached behind and undid the clasp, her hands yanking it off to drop it with the dress. Now, she was only wearing the thin, pink lace material of her knickers, and even that felt like too much clothing.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered huskily, learning up to capture the peaks of her breasts in his hands. "You're skin is like marble." His hands traced the soft curve of her breast, his thumbs tracing the supple mound.

A small smile twitched at her lips. "Like a statue?"

He glanced up at her, his thumbs brushing over the puckered peaks, as he listened to her gasp. He felt her nipples harden even more as he caressed them, his dark gaze on her face as he whispered, "like Venus de Milo." And then, before she had time to react, he leaned forward, his mouth sucking the taunt peak of her right breast into his mouth, his tongue lavishing the sweet skin as his hand kneaded the other. Like a statue, she came alive against him, writhing and gasping on his lap as he teased her, the fingers of her hands twisting in the short curls of his hair as he teased her with his tongue and lips, with the twist of his fingers.

She tangled her hands into his hair, arching her back as she pressed herself against him, gasping aloud as he flexed his hips upwards, the promise of what was to come achingly hot between her legs as he continued to tease her with his lips. She wanted to feel that hard, insistent pressure inside of her, the rigid length of him buried deep between her legs.

And she wanted it now.

Hands dropping to his shoulders, she ran them across his chest, her fingers scratching at the puckered scars littered across the sun kissed flesh. As she reached the waistband of his pants, he pulled back, a shaky groan leaving his lips. "Not here, Ruth. Let me take you down to bed-"

"Why do we need a bed?" she murmured, and she slid her hands back up his bare chest, fingers spreading across hot skin and hidden, hard muscle.

"Your first time-"

"Are there rules about a woman's first time?" she asked, pressing her hips hard into his. "Does it have to be in a bed with roses and violins?"

He let out a shaky laugh, his hips rising of their own accord. "I don't have any roses at the moment..."

"Thank God, I don't actually like roses." She pressed against him again, muscles she hadn't known she had tightening, quivering as the tender peaks of her breasts brushed against the fine, golden hairs of his chest. "Or violins."

"Even so-"

"I want this." She might not be able to be honest about everything, yet, but she could be honest with him about this. About this real, rushing desire she felt. "I want you. And I want you here, on the deck of this boat, now, in this vast sea. Just like this. I want to feel you moving inside me, pushing at me in places no one else ever has, or ever will."

He eased away from her, but only to hold her face in his palms and search her expression. She stared back, firm in her purpose, clear-headed even in the midst of this sexual desire he had awoken in her. "You want me," he said slowly, almost wonderingly, and she leaned forward again so her breasts brushed his chest and her lips grazed his.

"I want you," she whispered against his mouth, and then, she kissed him again, another honest kiss, deeper this time, drawing everything from him ever as she gave it all back.

She'd never grow tired of this, she thought hazily as Harry suddenly turned them, pressing her back into the cold wood of the chair as his lips kissed their way down her body, her legs parting as her head fell back to the headrest. She'd never have enough of this, of him. Her breath came out in short gasps as his fingers skimmed the waistband of her knickers and then, with one swift tug, he tore the thin lace and tossed them to the deck, along with his pajama bottoms.

The sudden feel of his fingers against the soft curls of her center made her cry out in surprise, and every muscle inside her clenched as Harry slowly slid a finger inside her wet heat. Her head fell back, her fingers clutched at the hair on his head as he lowered his face to her, his nose nudging the slick slit between her legs as he licked at her, adding a second and than a third finger as he slowly built her to a pleasure so intense and fierce, it almost hurt as it crashed over her.

"Harry." His name came out as a shudder. "Why didn't I know this could be so good?"

"Because you didn't let yourself," he murmured, his voice tickling at the bundle of nerves he was slowly sucking on. As his hand kept moving, her hips began to move, rising, pressing against him as she found a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing.

"I...I want you," she gasped, her thighs quivering with the need to squeeze against him, "I want you inside me." Each word coming as a pant.

"It could hurt, your first-"

"Shut up. Shut up about my first time," she cut him off on a gasp, angling her hips away from him, her breath coming in short bursts as a coil twisted inside of her. Hands twisted in his hair, she pulled him up, her mouth hotly pressing against his, her tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting what she could only guess to be herself on him. Sliding her hands to his shoulders, she pressed him over, rolling with him as he fell lightly against the chair, her knees settling on either side of his hips as she poised over him. Pulling her lips from his, her gaze meeting his hot one, she grasped his rigid penis with one hand and slowly sank onto him, her eyes widening as she felt herself open and stretch for the first time. Her hands moved to his shoulders, gripping tightly the flesh there, and his hands fastened to her hips, their bodies joined in every possible way. "Nothing about this hurts," she gasped.

That wasn't quite true. Nothing hurt, but the feeling of him inside her, stretching her, throbbing against her clenching muscles, was certainly eye opening. _Intense_. And wonderful in so many ways. Intimate in a way she'd always been afraid to be. To feel.

She never wanted to go back to the numbing coldness again.

Harry's gaze stayed on hers as he began to move, his hips thrusting up against hers as his hands on her hips guided her to match his rhythm. "Okay?" he murmured, and she laughed, her head falling back as pleasure began shooting sparks deep inside her, as jolts of sensation rippled through her, making speech almost impossible.

"More than okay," she answered when she finally trusted her voice. "Wonderful."

And then words failed her as sensation fully took over, and Harry's body moved so deeply inside her, brushing her in places she hadn't known to feel pleasure. When the coil finally broke, a wave of liquid warmth flooded her and her voice split the still, quiet air of the sea with one jagged cry of pleasure, her nails digging into his shoulders as sparks of swirling white blurred her vision. Distantly, she heard his grunt of pleasure, felt his fingers dig into her hips as he held her tightly against him, could feel the warmth of he spurted his seed inside her, but all she knew was she felt wonderful. Connected to another in a way she'd never known possible.

And as she sunk against him in a sweaty heap, damp skin clinging to damp skin, she smiled, the feeling of his semi-flaccid penis still buried inside her connecting them completely.

It felt as though he'd brought her back to life.

* * *

_**AN: Well? Good? Worth waiting for? xoxo** _


	4. Chapter 4

_**AN: Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I appreciate it much. This is the last chapter; just an epilogue to go which will be up Thursday evening. If you've the time, I do hope you'll leave a review for this one as well. :) And I apologize, I know going in that Harry is OOC to the man on the Grid, but then, we didn't see the man outside the Grid, but I know this will offend some of you. xoxo** _

* * *

Ruth gazed at her reflection and tried to still the nervous fluttering in her stomach. They'd been back in London for a week, and tonight was the JIC annual dinner. The first time she would be attending a function at the wife of Harry Pearce.

In the week since they'd returned from the Mediterranean, they'd continued to explore the sexual side of their relationship with abandon. Joyous abandon. The nights were filled with pleasure, but the days...

Ruth still wasn't sure about the days. They weren't pleasure filled, but then, more often than not, time spent on the Grid wasn't pleasurable, and so she couldn't base everything on that. Plus, they'd both been busy, what with Tom being undercover with the military, and as Ruth had found out, her own time at Section D under review by of all people, Harry. That in itself was causing a strain on their professional relationship.

It seemed like the most honest they could be with each other right now was with their bodies. Not their words, not their hearts, but their bodies.

Really, it was ironic, that she wanted that now. Wanted the honest with their hearts, and with their words. When she had agreed to this marriage, all laid out by Tom of all people, she had believed it would be convenient, that it _wouldn't_ involve her heart. She hadn't wanted love or intimacy or any of those things that one associated with a traditional marriage.

And now she did.

Now she did so much, and Harry was the one pulling away. She'd felt the withdraw from him the moment they'd stepped off the plane at Heathrow. At first, she had written it off as him just being preoccupied with work; he'd spent the entire flight working on his laptop with neigh a word to her. And she had respected that, curled in her seat with a book, had done her best to settle into his house in London. But now, after an entire week of incredible sex at night and virtually no conversation, save for his snapping at her on the Grid, she knew work couldn't be the only reason.

She'd gone over what Harry had told her about himself many times, thought about their conversations on the boat, yet the few terse sentences he'd been willing to fully share hardly gave anything away.

_My parents loved each other dearly. They loved my brother and I almost as much. It almost killed my father; and me; when my mother died. When I married Jane, I had hoped to find the love my parents had. Only she'd lied to me. My kids want nothing to do with me. Because I'd bought into the idea of true love, I've always been let down_.

What did he mean, let down by true love?

And even if she was willing to admit more to Harry, would he listen? He didn't seem interested in hearing her honest words of affection, or her attempts at friendship. He'd been polite, of course, and every night he'd made her body sing. But as she'd figured out, during the day, Harry took serious steps back.

Ruth could not figure out why this made her restless. Anxious. It seemed as though he'd come to accept their marriage as was, so why couldn't she? It was more than she'd ever had or let herself want. Why could it not be enough now?

Taking a deep breath, she inspected herself in the mirror. She wore an emerald-green evening gown, a bold choice for her, and she wondered if Harry would like it. One shoulder was bare, the cut just slipping across the top of her bust, and around her neck, she wore the simple diamond necklace Harry had given her on their marriage.

As she smoothed her hand down the dress, she froze, her eyes going wide as the last tresses' of her previous thought flitted across her mind.

She loved Harry.

* * *

Harry stood at the bottom of the houses steps, his fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of his dinner suit. He was tired, the mess with Tom taking a toll on him, and trying to pretend to be indifferent to Ruth wasn't making things any easier. Her lack of trust at his promise to keep her away from Oliver Mace had stung, that morning following their return when she stormed into his office and demanded to know his intentions concerning her job. He had _promised_ before their vows that she would stay in 5, and yet, the obvious lack of trust in his word had been apparent.

He loved her. He hadn't told her, hadn't even wanted to tell her, not just because he didn't know if she loved him, but because he couldn't open himself up to that heartache again. He'd been wrong before.

With Jane.

With Juliet.

Their time in the Mediterranean, after they had made love that first time, and begun to talk had felt real to him, but he wasn't sure if it had been real for her. Well, the sex was real. Real, raw, powerful.

He was pulled from his thoughts as she appeared at the top of the steps, his mind going blank as she carefully made her way down to him. In her heels, she was almost even, and he could stare into her questioning blue eyes. "You look beautiful," he said quietly, smiling slightly as her lips curled up in a genuine grin.

"Thank you," she whispered, eyes taking in his outfit. "You do amazing things with a tuxedo."

"I'd like to do amazing things to you," he whispered, drawing her closer.

"And I'd like you to do them," she answered back, her hand resting lightly on his chest. "I have a few amazing things up my sleeve too."

Harry grinned, pulling her hard against his body.

Familiar heat flooded Ruth, and she wished they'd the time to give in. But inside, she knew, sex wasn't enough. Not anymore. But as the sound of a car horn sounded outside, she also knew that right now was not the time for a heart-to-heart. Perhaps later, when this was all said and done, they could talk.

* * *

Ruth could feel Harry's preoccupation as they left the dinner. It was past midnight, the streets of London quiet as they settled into the back of the car. "I think tonight went very well," Ruth said, turning to look at Harry in the privacy of the town car.

"Very well." His lips were curved in a smile, but she could hear the lack of tone in his voice, and she had no idea what he was thinking. Feeling.

"Thank you for staying with me," she said, hating that she felt awkward, even just a little. "It was very thoughtful, especially as most husband disappeared together for cigars and whisky."

"It was the least I could do."

Harry turned to look out the window, his reflection haunted as they passed under street lights, and Ruth felt the barrier rising between them yet again. Uncertainly, she rested her hand on his arm and slid across the leather seat, unsure if her presence would annoy him. As her front rested against his arm, she felt him stiffen, and she wished she could decipher his mood. She was getting very tired of wondering - of worrying.

"Harry-"

Before she could say another word, she found herself in his arms, her back pressed against the seat as he kissed her with a raw, rough intensity she hadn't felt before. It was a kiss of passion, of that she was sure, but it also felt like a kiss of grief. Even so, it ignited everything inside of her and she kissed him back, her hands sliding upwards to clutch at his hair, even as part of her cried out that whatever was wrong between them, couldn't be fixed with sex.

Perhaps Harry disagree, or maybe sex was all he wanted, for he slid his hands down her satin-clad legs before sliding the material of the dress up to her hips. Heat flared as he pressed his hand against her, the thin silk of her knickers the only barrier between them. With a quick glance at the driver through the patrician, Ruth placed her hands on either side of his face, tried to get him to look at her. "Harry, what's wrong? What is it?" She whispered even as an insistent, pleasurable ache had started between her thighs, urged on by the press of his hand.

"Nothing's wrong," he answered, his voice thick with desire as he maneuvered them on the seat. "I just need you, Ruth. I want you. Now." He shifted until he was between her legs, his hands undoing the zip of his pants, as he kissed her again. Ruth closed her eyes, let the sensation wash over her.

She wanted him too, and while she wanted his honesty, she could understand his need for this, and she'd take what he could give her. And maybe, this would ever be all he could give her.

She buried her head in the curve of his neck, felt a shudder rack his body as he moved against her, and Ruth put her arms around him, drawing him even closer. Suddenly he was inside her, deeper in this position than he'd been before, a bit overwhelming, and yet, it was as wonderful as always. Fingers clutching at his shoulders, she moaned quietly against his skin as she met him thrust for thrust, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist as she came apart, her heart racing as Harry let out a deep grunt, the muscles of his back quivering under her hands as he came.

His lips against her neck, she felt the soft kiss below her ear as he muttered "I love you."

Everything inside Ruth stilled, and she felt a fragile happiness emerge at his omission. Shifting her head, she grasped the sides of his sweat soaked face, saw the cloud of emotions in his eyes as she leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his. "I love you too."


	5. Chapter 5

**One Year and Some Months Later**

Ruth smoothed the cream satin of the skirt, admiring the admittedly over-the-top tufts of lace that accented the gown. She turned to Harry with a smile and a small shake of her head, eyes alight as she watched him straighten his tie. "I can't believe you wore this."

"I'm sure if I'd been more self-aware at the time, I'd have been thoroughly mortified." His eyes met hers in the mirror, softening as he watched her sit on their bed, blonde-haired son sitting in her lap.

"Well, you were only three months old," she teased. "Benjamin seems to like it, at any rate."

"He's a Pearce," he said, eyes bright as he turned towards them, crossing to place his hand gently on Ben's head.

They both gazed down at their son, Benjamin James Pearce, his eyes already the slate color of his mother's, his cheeky grin reminding Ruth of her father. With a smile for their son, Ruth scooped him into her arms and held him against her shoulder, nose pressing against his head to smell his warm, baby scent.

"Careful," Harry warned, reaching down for the flannel, "you just fed him and you know how much he likes to share." With a mock grimace, Harry tucked the cloth over Ruth's dress. "I should know, our dry cleaning bill has tripled since this little one came along."

"You don't mind," she said softly, "and neither do I."

"Hmm," Harry murmured, arms sliding around her waist to pull them close. "No, I don't. Not when we've finally found everything we were missing."

Eyes meeting his, Ruth smiled, her heart filled with joy, with love, and with just a tad of sorrow. Not for the first time, she wondered how it was she had come to have all this and more.

"I couldn't have imagined any of this before I married you," she said softly. "Having a husband and a child of my own. Loving someone as much as I love you. Feeling so much joy and love for life. You've changed me Harry."

"And you changed me too," he said, smiling wryly. "Thank God." Then, with the expertise of a father, Harry shifted Benjamin to his shoulder, and drew Ruth towards him with the other for a kiss. "Thank God for second chances."

* * *

_**AN: Thank you all for reading. I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I've enjoyed your reviews. I do apologize for the delay in posting this bit; while I originally had this written, two other endings came to mind; lazy morning sex on Harry's boat and Danny's funeral; I just couldn't get the details to flow right for Danny's funeral. xoxo** _


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